MY PROUD CORZÓN
by EJM513
Summary: Modern AU: Hector and Imelda are a young couple whose lives are turned upside down by a simple phone call. The make the best of the situation, but will the past continue to rear it's ugly head? Full summery inside, and there are OC's. Rated T for language and adult themes and language.
1. CHARACTER LIST AND SUMMERY

_**HELLO MY LOVELIES! LOOK WHO IS BACK WITH A NEW STORY… THIS GIRL!**_

 _ **I KNOW I KNOW I SHOULDN'T BE STARTING ANOTHER ONE-AND FOR THOSE OF YOU FOLLOWING MY OTHER COCO STORY I AM SO SORRY IT IS TAKING ME SO LONG TO FINISH IT OR EVEN PUBLISH THE NEXT CHAPTER. WITHOUT GETTING INTO A LOT OF DETAIL A LOT HAS BEEN GOING ON IN LIFE AND I'VE BEEN DEALING WITH A LOT OF ANXIETY AND EMOTIONAL PROBLEMS IN GENERAL, SO I HAVEN'T' HAD THE ENERGY TO WRITE FOR MONTHS. I DO HAVE EVERY INTNETION OF FINISHING THAT AND WORKING ON THEM AT THE SAME TIME.**_

 _ **HOWEVER THIS WAS JUST SOMETHING I HAD TO WRITE, AND WHAT IS EXCITING IS I HOPE OT BE ABLE TO TURN INTO A PUBLISHABLE STORY ONE DAY.**_

 _ **SO WITH THAT IN MIND… HERE IS "COME WHAT MAY" :D THIS WILL BE A QUICK CHARACTER LIST AND A LONGER SUMMERY BECAUSE THERE ARE SOME OC'S IN THIS.**_

 _ **DISCLAIMER: I, EJM513 DO NOT OWN COCO OR ANYTHING ASSCOITED WITH IT.**_

~MY PROUD CORZÓN~

Summery: Hector is a 23 year old trying to stay afloat of New York City with his wife, his brother in laws and his partner in crime. Everything changes when an old flame calls him out of the blue and drops an atomic bomb-she was pregnant when he left her. His life, and the lives of those are changed forever. Will they all manage to live happily ever after, or will the past continue to rear its nasty head?

CHARACTER LIST: (OC'S will be in bold and italicized… also I know Spanish/Mexican names don't work the same as American ones do but since this takes place in America I'm just going to keep is simple and give the twin's the last name Ramos-which would have been Imelda's maiden name))

Hector Rivera

Imelda Rivera

 _ **Regina Adams**_

 _ **Martha/Marta Rivera**_

Oscar Ramos

Felipe Ramos

 _ **Trisha Washington**_

Socorro/ Coco Rivera

 _ **Marco Rivera**_

Ernesto de la Cruz

 _ **Nicholas Boucher**_

Gustavo Mendoza

Chicharron Olmos

Gabriel De Souza (the clerk who explains the curse to Miguel played by Gabriel Iglesias)

 _ **Señora Smith**_

Miguel Rivera

Abuelita Elena

Rosa Rivera

Able Elena

Lousia Rivera

Enrique Rivera

Berto Rivera

Tia Carmen

Tia Gloria


	2. PT 1 CHAPTER 1

_**HELLO MY LOVELIES! HERE IS THE FIRST CHAPTER OF MY PROUD CORZÓN!**_

 _ **PLEASE ENJOY AND PRETTY PLEASE REVIEW! I PROMISE I DON'T BITE :P**_

~MY PROUD CORZÓN~

~PART ONE~

~COME WHAT MAY~

~CHAPTER ONE~

 _HECTOR_

 _NOVEMBER, 2004_

I love my job….

I love my job…

Sure I was struggling to get many students. Sure the ones I did get were not… promising to put it gently. The brown haired boy sitting in front of me had been dragged in by his tense mama. At least the he had put in something that looked like effort. His green eyes stared duly at the small guitar in his lap. His thin, little hands desperately tried to reach around the finger board. No matter how hard he tried the boy couldn't do anything but make the most horrendous chords I had ever heard.

Well… I at least I knew why he had thrown such a fit earlier.

I had asked him to practice Ode to Joy-the easiest piece of music known to mankind. I thought it wasn't too much to ask; spend fifteen minutes a day on that simple piece.

What I heard was a series of clashing chord after clashing chord that made my ears want to bleed.

"Stop Stop Stop!" The boy halted, staring at me with massive, very confused eyes.

"What?

"Did you practice Tom?" Thom's back straightened, his eyes narrowed in anger. He crossed his arms over his chest, taking on a defensive stance.

I could only hope he wasn't as much like his mother as I feared he was.

"What do you mean 'Did I practice?'"

"I mean I asked you to practice easy piece for fifteen minutes and you're not playing it right… at all." I said, trying to keep my composure. Tom's defensive stance and hostile glare became worse, making my blood begin to boil.

This was going to be a long lesson.

"You can't accuse me of not practicing! You don't know me! You don't know what I do outside of this stupid lesson!"

I could only breathe in deeply through my nose and pray for God to give the patience I so desperately needed.

"Chamaco"

"Don't talk to me in that alien tongue!"

My calm expression faded. I could feel my blood boiling so hot that my skin felt hot to the touch. I placed my hands together like I was saying a prayer and pointed them at the defensive, entitled boy.

"I know you didn't practice Tom, because your fingering is wrong and your chords are somehow worse." I explained, my voice as tense as my body. Toom, being who he was, thrusted the guitar in my arms and shot up to his feet.

"You know what screw you!" His squeaky voice bounced off the thin walls, filling the entirety of the small practice room.

My eyebrows raised to my hairline, my mouth dropping to the floor. I could not believe the words coming of the child's mouth. I couldn't seem to find my voice until he pulled out his phone and stormed towards the door.

"Hey! Get back here! You can't talk to me like that or use that language! You're only 11!" I cried, placing the small guitar gently on the ground and dashed after him. Tom stopped and spun on his heels. His face was a red as a tomato. His nostrils were flaring like an angry bull. I almost took a step back, floured by the furry filled expression that looked so much like his demon mother.

The thought crept into my mind that I was not getting paid enough to deal with these kids.

"You can't tell me what to do! You're just a stupid music teacher! You're probably here illegally anyway and I'm going to tell my mom and she's going to get you deported!" My jaw once again became unhinged as he marched out the door and slammed it behind him. My eyes didn't move. All I could do was gawk at blink. Tom's words bounced around in my head, making my heart begin to sink in my stomach. The rational part of me knew not to believe the threats of a rotten child. I had been legal since I was 21 and had every single crap of paper to prove it.

On the other hand… the utterly irrational part of me screamed in terror at the idea of what an angry middle aged woman could do.

Yup… I definitely did not get paid enough.

Still shocked by the hot headed child, I turned around and walked back towards my chair. I sat, picked up the child size guitar and just stared at it.

I couldn't tell you exactly what I had expected when I left Mexico-but teaching these pequeños mocosos was definitely part of the plan. When I was 17 and made the admittedly impulsive decision to leave Mexico, it had been for same vague notion of glory and fame. I could still remember sitting on the roof of my home, gazing at the stars, unable to escape Ernesto's voice. Ernesto-my closest friend on this Earth-was the one who had put those tales of glory in my head. He would go on and on and on and on about the fortune that was waiting for us in the tall buildings and bright lights of New York. Had it been up to him we would have just packed out guitars and worried about the logistics later.

Now I may have been an impulsive pendejo, but I wasn't stupid. If I was going to make my name in America I would do it the right way (or as Ernesto called it the stupid way). I would go to school there, work to become a citizen and take advantage of the opportunities America held. It turned out there were far more than I could wrap my head around.

Maybe that was part of my problem.

I let out a sigh and ran my fingers through my hair. Ernesto's deep, soaring voice flooded from the room next store. He too had been forced to teach lessons. While I taught guitar and music theory, Ernesto taught voice. We had been lucky enough to be hired by a small music school that was so desperate for teachers they would have taken anyone who breathed. Like myself, this had not been a part of Ernesto's plan at all. He despised it as much as I did on my worse days. In fact I wouldn't be surprise if he hated it more than me. His hatred had nothing to do with a displeasure of working with children or even the idea of helping others improve their craft. I knew deep down he felt as he if was wasting his time. While I was entranced by the idea of fame, it was what kept Ernesto motivated and smile. It was what kept Ernesto alive.

But of course so did food, and dreams aren't always the best at providing food.

With nothing else to do I stood up and went to put the guitar away Tom was blessedly the last lesson of the day. That meant I had a few hours until Ernesto and I played another gig in a never ending stream of gigs. Though I knew Ernesto was going to find it aggravating, I wasn't going to sit around and wait for him. I threw on my coat and typed out a quick message to my partner.

 _Hector: Tom stormed out… again. I'm going to go home and get ready to the show. I'll meet you at the bar."_

With a small smile on my face and walked out the small studio. A blast of frigid air smacked me in the face, taking my breath away and stinging my cheeks. I pulled my coat up to my face and began the brisk walk home.

I didn't know if I would ever be used to his force of nature New York called weather. I could still remember my days in Santa Cecilia, when November required nothing more than a sweatshirt at most. I wouldn't dare try such a stupid thing in New York. It was already far colder than my home town, creating a chill that was somewhat alien to me. To add to my misery this city had to be an island, making it exceptionally windy. The sprawling, tall buildings only seemed to act like a funnel to make the frigid win even stronger and icier.

This lead to my long nose and thin face growing red and a pair of screaming lungs. It was days like this that I wanted to go back to my 17 year old self and slap him silly until America was nothing but a legend meant to terrify children.

No matter. I would just put on some music and everything would be

 _PARA BILAR LA BAMBA!_

 _PARA BILAR LA BAMBA SE NECESSITA_

I looked down at my pocket, feeling my phone vibrate against my leg. I groaned in agitation, convinced it was Ernesto wondering where I had gone. I took out one ear bud and put the phone to my ear.

"Ernesto please I know you hate it when I do this but"

"This isn't Ernesto."

It certinally wasn't Ernesto. Aside from the fact the voice belonged to a woman, it didn't like the grating, noisily accent I had been surrounded by or my wife's familiar Mexican accent. It was as smooth and rich a mole. It was hauntingly and eerily melodic in a way New York accents simply weren't.

It also wasn't a voice I had heard in two years.

I froze, aggravating the sea of people around me. They knocked into my shoulders, some giving me a dirty look. One man in a handsome suit even cried

"Move it pal!"

But I couldn't. The shock was so great I couldn't speak, let alone move. I thought I would never hear that distinct southern drawl again. It sent a chill through me that went far deeper than the cold ever could.

There was a silence on the other end. She was obviously waiting for me to speak.

"You're holdn' everyone buddy!" with that cry my legs finally began to work. A smooth chuckle filled my head as I remained silent, threatening to paralyze me once more.

"Hector I know you didn't forget how to speak English. Are you not goin' to talk to me?"

I swallowed hard and prayed my voice wouldn't sound like it did in the throws of puberty.

"Regina why are you calling me? How did you even get my phone number?" I asked, thankful my voice had somehow managed not to crack. I heard Reginia let out a huge puff of air. She was most likely smoking. It was a nasty habit she had when we met, despite being a trained soprano. I could still see her think lips puffing out the smoke.

"Oh please. If you're so concerned about people findn' your number, maybe don't make it the way your students contact you." She chuckled. My face twisted at those words as she took another drag of her cigarette- or at least I thought she did anyway.

"I may be back in Mississippi, but I do my best to keep tabs on what's gon' on up there. If you must know, a singer friend of mine gave me your number when I asked if she knew what happened to you. She told me you were back in New York teaching lessons and found it in the yellow pages. It's a small world Hector, and the classical music world is even smaller."

Damn those pinchie yellow pages.

"So when she did slink back to New York?" She asked.

"About a year and a half ago." I had no idea why I was telling her this, and why I had no just hung up on her. The words just slipped out of my mouth. Hearing this Reginia let out two loud "Ha's", her melodic voice taking on the form of a cackling witch..

"Oh the fuckin' irony." She sighed, growing quiet once more. I rolled my eyes and let out a huge huff, my thumb itching to hit the end call button.

"Regina if you don't tell what's going on I am hanging up." I declared, my thumb inching closer to the desired button.

"Oh I'll tell you what's goin' on. When you took your sorry self back to Mexico? Well as I turned out I found out I was pregnant not long after you left."

I halted on the side walk once more. My entire body seemed to shut down. I didn't even notice the wind picking up, slapping my face again. Everything around me began to go black as mu body refused to function. Everything might have gone completely black if someone hadn't crashed into me. I fell hard to the concrete, my phone flying out of my hand and down to the ground. I scrambled towards it, snatched and put it back to me ear. Not knowing what else to do I kept on walking. My knees hand hands burned but I still kept walking.

"You. Were. What?!" I hissed. My gut was screaming not to believe a word that came out of her dainty mouth. Regina always had a tendency to say anything to get a reaction or to become the center of attention. It was one of the reasons I wanted to end out brief and very physical relationship. I knew there was a high chance she was lying, and I would not let myself become entangled in her mierda again.

"Pregnant" She said, her voice low and flat.

"Reginia please stop this… uh… how do you say…"

"Bullshit."

"¡SÍ! Stop your bullshit!" I exclaimed, drawing a weary glance from a few bystanders.

"Oh but darlin' this ain't bullshit. You have an eighteen mouth old daughter named Martha. She was born on May 4th of last year and has your dark hair and eyes." Reginia spoke with the air of reading a grocery list; sounding utterly aloof and uninterested. Each detail she gave struck me like a knife in my heart. I somehow managed to keep taking long strides, some unknown force controlling my body. My breath came out in erratic silver puffs. My eyes were bulging out of my head and my heart was pounding far too quickly.

The information she gave me was far too specific to not hold some truth. The more Regina's words sank in, my panic began to fade away. It was replaced by cold, unbearable numbness and bitter acceptance. There was a chance she was telling the truth, and I did have a child. My stomach lurched at the thought. My eyes began to sting and it wasn't from the frosty air.

"You're sure she's… mine?" I asked, my voice weak. It was moment like this I was grateful for the tendency of New Yorkers to mind their own business.

"Whatever you may think of me Hector I was always faithful, even after you left. Martha is yours. She looks white but like I said she's got your hair, your eyes and I think your smile" She said. She took another drag from her cigarette while I shook my head in disbelief.

"Why didn't you tell me? I demanded, my voice far too fragile for its own good.

"What I did or didn't do doesn't matter."

"Oh yes it"

"I'm not callin' to talk about any of that. I'm callin' you because I need you to take her." She stated.

I lost my footing yet again, though thankfully I managed to not crash on the side walk. My mouth became completely unhinged. I began shaking from a strange combination of exasperation, terror and rage.

"You want me to WHAT?!" My voice rose above the symphony of horns, voices and distant construction. A few people jumped in shock. There were more pairs of eyes on me than I felt comfortable with. I looked down and avoided the prying gazes. I could only imagine how deranged I must have looked.

"Did you have to yell?" Regina whined, probably scowling like a child.

"Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait! You call me out of no where, tell me I have a child I didn't know about and in the next minute you tell me you want me to take her?" She remained silent, not even taking another puff of smoke. She was stubbornly and annoyingly quiet, which only managed to fuel my concoction of emotions.

"You. Can't. Do That." I hissed.

"I can't take care of her anymore, things aren't good at the moment. You need to take her." Reginia explained. I heard the click of a lighter, and what small thread was holding me together snapped. I held the phone in an iron grip, my expression twisted in angry and my nostrils began to flare.

"You want me to take a child… can you even prove she's mine?" I demanded. Reginia sighed loudly and I could just see her rolling her eyes to the back of her head.

"Her birthday is May 4th, 2003. We last saw each other at the beginning of August and I found out I was pregnant a few years later. It couldn't have been anyone else." She paused and I heard her inhale more smoke.

"But if you don't believe me than you came come down to Mississippi and take a paternity test, but it'll take a while." She said, her lips probably curling into a devilish grin. I ran my free hand down my face, fighting the urge to scream. Maybe the timing made it impossible for the child to be anyone else's.

Or maybe this was some horrible fever dream and I was just stuck until someone woke me up.

"I can't drop everything and go to Mississippi! I have a lot of work and my wife"

"Your WIFE?!" Regina's voice inched higher, and I could see her light brown eye brows rise up her forehead. I stopped for a moment, regretting letting the word slip out of my mouth. I hissed as Regina let out an astonished laugh that made my stomach churn.

"Well that happened fast. Now is it just you or are all men unrepentant pigs? Let me guess" She began, her voice becoming hard and thin. "You two are happily married and either have a kid or are expecting one, so little Martha doesn't matter."

That was it. I took the phone away from my ear and held it close to my mouth-which I was surprised wasn't foaming at this point.

"I don't have other children Regina." I stated, breathing deeply to try and stay as calm as possible.

"You… can't spring this one someone. I… give me a chance to understand all this and figure out what to do." I said, my voice tight and low. Regina grew quiet, hopefully considering my words. I wished I could have seen her have so I had a prayer of knowing what was going through her head.

"Fine-you have a week to figure it all out-and if you don't get your shit together or don't to come get her I will put her in the system. It's up to you."

My eyes felt as if they would pop out of my head, my thoughts spiraling in disbelief.

"A week?! A week?!" I cried, my heart racing and pounding so hard I could hear it in my head. I opened my mouth once more to plead to her to let me have more than a week. Instead I heard the click of Reginia hanging up the phone. I stared down at my own, small black cellphone, trying to piece together what on Earth had just happened. I breathed in the brisk air and began to think.

My day had gone from the daily grind of teaching, figuring ways to attacking more students and dealing with one explosive Thomas Andrews, to finding out I had a child. My head throbbed, and my stomach lurched and twisted.

None of this could be real. Reginia had always spewed lie and fantastical story after fantastical story. It had been an incident involving this strange behavior that had ultimately driven me to run away.

And yet… something inside of me knew this time she was not lying. Not only were the details far to concrete and grounded, her stories and lies were usually flimsy attempts for attention. They always lacked substance. More to the point her lies had never been on such a large scale. The worst I could think of was a sob story about her hard, down trodden life in slums on Jackson. She had infact grown up surrounded by cotton money and as far as I knew still had access to it.

Annoying-yes. Did it make it hard to trust her- yes. But as far as I knew she would never stoop to lying about a baby.

Everything around me seemed far away, lost in a fog of confusion and uncertainty. The buildings and streets seemed unusual and exotic. I couldn't think in English or Spanish. My mind was a white, blank slate. The roar of the city faded away to hot white noise. I felt as if I were floating instead of slowing walking on cold stone.

I had no idea what was real or what to believe. The world around me felt even more uncertain than when I felt for America I closed my eyes and stuck my hands into my pickets.

At the moment there were only two things that made sense.

One: There was a strong possibility I had a child I didn't know about for almost two years.

Two: I was going to be in a lot of trouble when I got home.


	3. PT 1 CHAPTER 2

_**AN: HELLO MY LOVELIES! I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THE FIRST CHAPTER! THIS IS BEEN QUIET A JOY TO WRITE AND SHOCKINGLY EASY AND QUICK. IT'S ALSO IN A STYLE I USUALLY STAY AWAY FROM BUT I WANTED TO STREACH MYSELF AND EXPERIMENT A LITTLE BIT.**_

 _ **ALL RIGHT THAT'S ENOUGH OF THE AUTHOR'S NOTE LET'S GET ON WITH THE NEXT CHAPTER!**_

 _ **PLEASE ENJOY AND PRETTY PLEASE REVIEW! I PROMISE I WONT BITE.**_

 _ **DISCLAIMER: LISTEN AND LISTEN WELL! I DO NOT OWN COCO OR ANYTHING ASSOCIATED WITH SO PPPPPLLLLEEEAAASSSE DON'T SEND ME TO JAIL! PLEASE…**_

~CHAPTER TWO~

 _~HECTOR~_

Panic seeped deep in my bones as I rounded the corner that would lead me to my home. It was as if I wasn't in my body. Someone else was controlling my long, gangly limbs. That had to be why I was inching closer and closer to a conversation I didn't want to have. Then I would have to go on stage and preform as if the foundations of my life weren't crumbling beneath my feet.

No I would have rather staid outside in the cold air. Out here it was easy to be invisible, just one person among millions. In the warmth of home, I would be greeted with faces and smiles that would know something was wrong the moment I stepped inside. Anything would be better than their looks of concern and their well-meaning but prying questions.

Yet there I was, standing in front of a gently glowing sign that read "Smith's Shoes." I looked up at it, trying to gather the courage I needed to step inside. Only looking back on this moment would I realize how stupid I was being. I left my small publea for a monster of a city before I was eighteen. I performed on stage almost nightly without a trace of fear. Yet I could not bring myself to go into my home and talk to my family.

My wife, Imelda, may be stubborn and hot tempered but she was no monster.

At least that's what I kept telling myself as I kept staring at the sign, the winter air burrowing deep inside me. A sharp chill ran up my spine, bringing with it new found courage. Not only would stalling the inevitable worsen my anxiety but freezing from the inside out was not going to solve anything. Without another moment's hesitation I opened the door and stepped inside.

I was greeted by a rush of warmth that wrapped its arms tightly around me. The cold from the weather began to melt away-though it did nothing to take away the panic. A little bell alerted those inside of my presence. I kept my eyes on my shoes as I wiped them against a rough doormat. I couldn't bring myself to look at them… not yet.

"Oh hello Hector." Señora Smith said. I forced myself to look up. I was greeted by a large, open and well-lit room. There were benches and rolls of leather all over. Two old sewing machines sat silently, their occupants having stopped mid task. Most importantly there were four kind yet tired smiles. I thanked god there was no one else in the store besides those smiles.

My eyes went to Señora Smith first. It was far easier to force a smile for her. Señora Smith was a child sized, kind old woman who let me, Imelda and her twin brothers live in the apartment upstairs. She gave Imelda and her brothers jobs, and at this point they practically ran the business. More importantly, she was the only person in the room who wouldn't see through my tight, fake smile.

"Hola Señora Smith." I said. She smiled at me, her wrinkled cheeks lifting to her eyes. Sitting next to her was my Imelda. She too was grinning, waiting for me to come to her.

My smile relaxed as I stared at her. Even after a long day of working she was still a sight to behold. Her dark hair was pulled into a braid that fell to the top of her waist. She wore a deep purple sweater that made her olive skin glow. Her large, chocolate eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but they were bright with happiness as she looked at me. My heart hummed with contentment. For one glorious second the fear eating at me and the weight on my shoulders disappeared.

"Hola mi amor." She said, breaking the silence in the room. I blinked, my shoulders heavy once more, my stomach being torn apart once again. On pure instinct I dashed over to Imelda and threw my arms around her. I wanted nothing more than to hold mi amor and have her hold me. Gracias a Dios Imelda held me just as tightly in return. She may have been small, but I finally felt secure again in her think arms. She rubbed my back and kissed my cheek. I buried my face in the top of her head, hoping she would still want to hold me after I gave her the news.

"¿Que pasa Héctor. Todo estas bien?" She asked, running her fingers through my hair. I shook my head. She squeezed me tightly and pulled me a way, looking up at me with concern.

"What happened?" She questioned, reaching for my hand. Instead of holding it she yanked her dainty hand away and stared in horror. I felt my face scrunch in confusion. I followed her gaze and it was only then that I noticed my hands were scraped badly. My palms in particular looked malo-probably from stuffing them in my pockets. I could only wonder how badly I had hurt my knees.

"What happened to you?" Imelda cried, examining my battered hands.

"I fell. Imelda I really need to talk to you… solo." She looked up at me, her expression wary and full of distrust. I could hear the alarms screaming in her head. She was suspicious and could probably sense the fear radiating from me. With a sharp nod she wrapped her arm around my waist and glanced over her shoulder.

"Oscar, Felipe!" She called. Two young men stood to attention at the sound of her voice. They were almost as tall and lanky as me. They had identical long faces, large brown eyes hidden behind glasses and thin mustaches. They stared at the both of us, their eyes tinged with worry.

"If you two are done with those drawings help Señora Smith while I take care of Hector." Imelda ordered. Oscar and Felipe nodded in unison, making their way over to the old woman as Imelda pulled me to the back of the store. She led me up the steep stairs to our apartment, her eyes locked on the door. My heart raced and thundered so loudly I was afraid she could hear it. I felt hallow with terror. I tried to use her silence as an opportunity to plan what I was going to say. Should I just outright tell her what I had been told? Or should I gently break the news? I wasn't able to come to an answer. One, ugly thought kept overpowering all others.

My wife is going to hate me.

Imelda pushed open the door and brought me to the small, red couch in the living room. I sat and stared at my hands as she went into the kitchen. I still had no idea how to even begin this conversation. My throat tightened as the clacking heels of her boots came closer. Ever muscle in my body tensed. I knew she could feel it as she held my wrist and began to dab the palm of my hands. Whatever she was using burned like the flames of hell. I hissed and jerked my hand away.

"¡Pinchie Madre!"

"Stop acting like a child and give me your hands." Imelda ordered, her voice steady and firm. Knowing it would be better for me to just listen I held out my hand and let her hold it. We sat in silence as she cleaned my scrapes. My eye twitched as I tried not to react to the searing sensation in my hand. It was a blessing that it would come in a painful flash and dull to a slow burn. More importantly it gave me something else to focus on.

"Are you going to tell me what happened or not?" Imelda's eyes were trained on my hand as she placed a bandage over the large area of violent red. She glanced up at me with an expectant look when I didn't respond.

I took her hand in my bandaged one, giving it a squeeze despite how much it stung.

There was no going back. She was waiting for me to say something, and I didn't have the strength or the desire to tell her anything but the truth. I gazed into her dark eyes and willed my throat to work.

"I… I got a call from Regina. I met her when I first came here and went to school… we studied music. She was why I went back to Mexico two years ago. We… I… I needed to get away from her." I paused to swallow and gather my thoughts. I knew I had to choose my words carefully. Though Imelda quietly listened to my story, her lips were tight, and her eyes were narrowed. No matter how hard she tried Imelda could never hide what she was thinking or feeling. She was the definition of what Americans call an open book. It was painfully obvious Imelda wanted to hear about Regina about as much as I wanted to talk about her.

"I never thought I was talk to her again and I really didn't want to but AY YAI YA! What is that stuff?!" Imelda glared at me as she continued to patch my other hand. Her tolerance for hearing about an old girlfriend… or me… was wearing thin-dangerously thin.

"Get to the point Hector." She placed a bandage on my hand and turned her whole body towards me. Her face was hard, her eyes thin slits and she crossed her arms over her chest. I blinked, all the color draining from my face. Bile built up in my stomach and my throat felt raw. It may have been cowardly, but I looked away from her and rubbed the back of my head.

"Imelda, I don't know how else to tell you this so I'm just going to say it. She told me after I left, she found out I was pregnant. She said it… uh… she is mine."

I slowly looked up from my lap, terrified of what I was going to see. I expected daggers glared at me and an unimpressed, livid face. That was how Imelda's anger usually came out-it was vivid and it was loud. When I looked at her, she was anything but vivid and loud.

Her jaw hung up open, letting out nothing but silence. She looked so pale her skin had a greenish tint to it. Her eyes budged and filled to the brim with shock and horror. She slowly turned away. Her hands rested on the couch, her dainty fingers flexing against the soft material. She didn't say a word. She staid as quiet and still as a statue.

My throat closed, and my stomach twisted into one giant knot. I could handle Imelda's burning temper. I could deal with her harsh words and her threats to throw a stiletto at my head.

I couldn't handle her deafening silence. I couldn't handle her stillness. I wanted her to scream and yell at me, to tell me how much a pinchie pendejo I was being, because a Dios I was the biggest pendejo on Earth.

Imelda closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath, slowing opening them as she released it. She gripped at the couch even though there was nothing to hold on to.

"Do… do you believe this woman?" She asked, her voice tense from trying to stay calm. I shook my head, feeling sicker and sicker by the second. She refused to look anywhere but the door.

"No se Imelda… no se. She made a comment about taking a paternity test and I think I will do"

"Then what?!" Imelda snapped, leaping to her face and turning to face me. She had finally cracked, but it wasn't anger she was unleashing. She held herself as if one wrong move would shatter her. Her full lips were trembling, and she blinked rapidly. She trying her best not to cry.

That face and stance was like a knife in my gut.

I had broken the person I loved most.

"Well.. diga me! What are we going to do? What if the test comes back saying it's your kid do you expect to…" Her voice trailed off. She turned rigid, her eyes sparking recognition. She shook her head in disbelief, little strands of hair falling around her temples and farming her eyes. Tears began to spill down her cheeks. She looked like someone had punched her in the gut.

Or maybe broken her heart.

I couldn't handle it anymore. I reached out for her, an apology waiting behind my lips. My fingers brushed her hand and her jerked it back before could hold it.

"That's why this… this devil woman called. She wants you to take this child." Her voice quivered-something that was so rare it made my blood ran cold. She backed away, giving me a moment to answer. She didn't need an answer though. Imelda spoke as if she heard the conversation and knew what Regina had wanted. What could I have said anyway? What other reason would there have been for Regina to give me such news to years after the fact?

She knew it and I knew it.

"Mi amor" I whispered, reaching out for her. Imelda hastily spun to the door. I almost got hold of her sweater before she stormed away and slammed the door so hard the apartment shook.

Yup… I truly was the biggest pinchie pendejo on Earth.

* * *

"There you are!" Ernesto cried. He was already on the small stage by the time I had gotten to the bar. His guitar was strapped over his shoulder. I could have sworn he was sparkling in his violently blue mariachi shirt.

He was also looking at me like I was the biggest problem in life.

All because I was late.

"Sî I am here." I muttered, making my way up to the stage.

"Where have you been?! We were supposed to start warming up 10 minutes ago." Ernesto demanded, puffing out his bull like chest.

"I know I know I'm sorry Ernesto. Can we just warm up and get this over and done with" I knelt down and began to unpack my guitar, feeling nothing as I held it in my hands. Both Ernesto and the bar owner were gawking at me as if I was a two headed dog.

Sensing the situation was growing uncomfortable the bar owner slowly shuffled off the stage in search of something else to occupy his time. It was just me and Ernesto on the stage, something that usually filled me with joy. There were few things I loved than putting on a show with my best friend. Tonight though being alone with him left a lump of dread in my stomach. If Ernesto could sense something was wrong (which he did) he would not stop pushing me until I relented and told him what he wanted to hear. I was afraid of what would happen if he pushed too hard.

"What has gotten into you? I know you're not this upset over that Tom kid. What did he do this time?"

"Threatened to get me deported but that's the least of my problems." I said, beginning to pluck at my guitar. Every string sounded perfectly in tune until I reached the E. It let out an unholy screech that was the furthest thing from a note. Both Ernesto and I recoiled, our ears ringing with pain.

"Okay if it wasn't the kid then what happened?" Ernesto asked as I brought my hand to the pegs. I focused solely on the act of tuning my precious guitar. For one glorious moment there was nothing but me and my instrument. It had been a gift from Imelda for my last birthday. It was pure white, shimmering like stone when the light hit just right. The bottom was decorated with ebony ornamental swirls centering around a small skull. Whoever made the guitar had even taken the time to make the head stalk look like a sugar skull, decorations and all. It was the most beautiful gift anyone had ever given me. Up until that cold November day it had been the closest thing I had to a child.

But now… I may have an actual child, a living breathing child that needed me. Little Martha…

Though I had no idea what Martha looked like, the details Regina had given me were enough to paint a picture of her.

She was eighteen months old, which as far as I knew meant she was not quite a baby and not quite a toddler. She could probably walk on her own and maybe even say a few words. My head spun at the thought. Regina had also said she looked white. I could only assume that meant she had her pale skin. It may have been fair to assume Martha looked a lot like her mother with a few notable exceptions. She had my mess of dark hair, my brown eyes and my huge smile.

Sí… a picture of this child slowly appeared. She was almost angelic with her white skin and halo of dark hair. She grinned, exposing her growing teeth. Her little arms were stretched out, reaching for me. I felt my arm begin to extend towards her, to touch her smiling face.

My hand barely made it past my hip before she vanished, leaving nothing but the stage and the guitar hanging off me. My heart throbbed in sharp agony, making my chest ache. My shoulders hunched over. Much to my agitation my eyes began to sting. I blinked rapidly and covered them with my hand.

I was not going to cry over a child that I didn't know was mine… no matter how real she may have seemed.

"Hector!" Ernesto cried.

Oh right… I was back in reality… and I was technically at work. I dragged my hand slowly down my face, praying there were no lone tears. I slowly turned to my partner, unphased by his astonished and distressed expression. He stepped towards me, taking his guitar off his shoulders and placing it on the stage. He went to mine off, so we could have a serious talk.

Over my dead body would I tell him. Best friend of not I could not handle his reaction. I wasn't ready to be made lower than I already was.

No. In fact I refused to even think about how the world around me was breaking and changing in ways I couldn't begin to understand. Tonight, there would be no Regina, no heartbroken Imelda and certainly no baby. Tonight, there would be nothing but Ernesto, my guitar and the music.

"Hermano what is going on? You can talk to me."

"Ernesto I'm not ready to talk about it right now. I'll tell you when I'm ready. Let's just get ready and put on a good show."


End file.
